“George Tiller was kind, gentle, considerate and compassionate. He was funny. He was devoted to his family and friends. He was not vengeful in spite of the opprobrium, violence and hatred heaped upon him by opponents of abortion. He was generous in every way to his friends, community and good causes. He was an outstanding asset to our society, and he was a joy to those who knew him. He was a man of peace.”

It’s finally warmer and drier here in Seattle, and we’ve had at least a bit of sun, so I’ve spent most of my waking, non-work/non-commuting hours this week in the garden. What a wonderful time it has been.

I’ve rediscovered the meditative space of the garden, which has been so close all this time, but seemed so far in the midst of rain and gray and cold. Losing myself in digging and planting and transplanting, and feeling the physical effects of digging sod for the first time ever. But I see my garden transforming, small square by small square, and a vision forming of the space that I want to create, one that is being nurtured by me, but is nature itself.

The thoughts and the emotions come and go as I position the spade, force it into the dirt, and bring up not just grass, nor only bulbs or tubers, but also worms and beetles and larvae of things to come, and I realize those things that I see in the freshly dug soil are also inside of me, the multiplicity of organic, living things that is the universe of the body, the galaxy of the mind, the larvae of things to come.

It’s going to be a slow transformation, but there is a vision, and to watch it evolve, take form, take shape, is such a satisfying feeling. And I find myself thinking of the wonderful stories of magical gardens, secret gardens, gardens of the self and of the soul, and I know that we’ve always known — the human race has always known — the magic of gardens, that mystical place where nature and nurture meet.